Savage Sniper

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rex Faraday had watched as Deacon Cole was dragged away and thrown into the hot box.

It didn’t bode well.

“That’s the end of that,” said Cooper, sidling up next to Faraday. “This is one hell of a mess. What are we going to do?”

“To hell if I know yet,” Faraday replied truthfully.

Cooper just shook his head and walked away. Faraday kept his eyes outward, thinking through his next course of action. It was easier to know what to do in a plane crash, he thought, because at least you had trained for it. This was new territory.

Faraday was not feeling optimistic. He had seen strong-willed men locked in there for days at a time, only to emerge exhausted and broken. In any case, they didn’t have days. The escape plan was set for tonight.

Deke certainly seemed like a tough customer — he hadn’t been imprisoned long enough to be worn down. He still possessed strength and spirit. But it wasn’t his willpower that was the issue so much as time.

Faraday considered that timeline. The escape was scheduled for midnight tonight. When the hour for their deliverance arrived, it appeared likely that Deke was still going to be locked up. He was supposed to be their liaison between the POWs and the rescuers. If he was out of the picture, then who was going to lead them to safety?

He had warned Deke to keep his head down, but he had insisted on butting heads with Mr. Suey by standing up for a prisoner who was struggling to carry rocks from the stream.

Faraday couldn’t blame him. Deke’s actions were understandable, because the Japanese provoked that response in anyone with a sense of justice. The problem was that opposing Mr. Suey was a game that couldn’t be won. The enemy held all the cards.

Now Deke was locked in the hot box, and their entire escape plan was in jeopardy.

Through a crack in the wall, Faraday watched the hot box long after the door to the prisoners’ barracks had been closed and locked. By then it was starting to get dark, and the prison yard slowly fell into gloom.

He didn’t know what he was hoping for, other than some sort of miraculous sign. He saw some activity as their captors brought Deke his evening meal, but then the door to the hot box closed again. Nothing stirred after that.

Having finished with their duties for the day, most of the guards had retired to their barracks. Aside from a pair of guards walking the perimeter each hour, the Japanese remained in their own barracks once the prisoners were locked in for the night. The only lights glowed from the windows of the commandant’s house and the garrison barracks. The surrounding forest looked dark as the sea at night.

For the briefest time, he’d had some fleeting hope that they might all get out of this place. No more starvation diet. No more endless labor moving rocks from one pointless place to another. No more Mr. Suey or Colonel Yamagata terrorizing them with his Samurai bow.

He realized that the idea of freedom had taken root so strongly in the last few hours that the thought of endless days of moving rocks and eating bowls of boiled weeds was almost more than he could take. The carrot had been dangled and taken away again.

Faraday sat back and considered his options. He needed to think this through.

He had a decision to make now that would decide all their fates, and he would have to make it largely on his own. Venezia and Cooper were the only men who knew about the escape plan. They had kept things close to the vest to avoid security leaks, considering that there were men who would rat them out for a single handful of cooked rice. Whatever Faraday decided, he knew that Venezia and Cooper could be counted on to go along with it.

No lights were allowed in the barracks, so they were kept like livestock in a darkened barn. Most had memorized the layout by now so that they could navigate in the dark. There was just enough remaining light to see the men around him. They looked worn out and beaten up. Their clothes were ragged. The air inside the barracks smelled of sweat and funk. Several men suffered from nagging coughs. The stifling heat made it difficult to relax or sleep.

If this wasn’t hell, he didn’t know what was.

He knew that the first step would be to get out of the barracks. Fortunately, their quarters weren’t nearly as solidly built as the hot box. Months before, Cooper had told him how they had managed to find loose boards that could be opened in an emergency, such as a fire. The possibility of escape hadn’t been considered. Faraday had yet to see these loose boards for himself, but he had been promised that they were there.

Looking around at his fellow POWs, he weighed their options yet again. He knew that this was their only chance. If he failed, they might all be killed. Faraday knew that his own life would certainly be forfeit, made an example of by that no-good colonel Yamagata. Maybe the commandant would tell him to make a run for it and then put an arrow through him, just like he’d done to Lucky.

But if he didn’t try something, it would just be a more prolonged death, unless, as Deke had feared, the Japanese decided that no prisoners would ever be returned.

Faraday felt the weight of the decision that he needed to make weighing heavily on his shoulders. Should he gamble with all their lives or play it safe?

A smile came to his lips at that thought. No man who climbed aboard a bomber had ever played it safe. No man who picked up a rifle and fought for his country had ever played it safe. These were those same men. They were just tired and weak, but they deserved better.

He motioned Cooper and Venezia toward him.

“Listen up,” he said. “We’re doing this. We’re getting out of this camp tonight — or we die trying.”

“You can count on us,” Cooper said. “In fact, I think I know how we can get started.”

Faraday raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Is that so?”

“I told you before that I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Let me show you what I mean.”

Cooper led them to the back wall of the barracks and nudged a board with the battered toe of his combat boot.

Cooper explained that before Faraday’s arrival in the camp, unknown to the Japanese, an enterprising prisoner had loosened two boards in the side of the barracks. The opening was just wide enough for a thin man to squeeze through.

Faraday was amazed. He’d heard Cooper mention this escape route, but seeing was believing. “Has anybody ever tried getting out before?”

“Where would they go? To the USO dance?”

“Well, we’ve got somewhere to go tonight.”

Colonel Yamagata sat at his desk, his uniform shirt unbuttoned in a nod to the heat and the fact that it was now dark out, past the official part of his day. He sat drinking sake, his Samurai archer’s bow in the corner.

As a matter of fact, he was on his second rice wine, and he was beginning to feel the pleasant, mellowing effects of the strong liquor. He took a puff on his cigarette, the pungent tobacco smoke mingling with the lingering aroma of the modest meal he had just eaten, which had consisted of steamed rice with a little canned fish.

Recently he had been forced to reduce rations for his command, as their supplies were cut off due to the American invasion. Even after the evening meal, he still felt a little hungry. He’d also had to limit himself to four cigarettes a day.

He raised his glass and said to the empty room, “Kanpai!” Bottoms up!

Fortunately, he had enough sake to last for months. It was the one commodity that never seemed to be in short supply across the army, perhaps because of its ability to provide liquid courage as needed against overwhelming odds. Some even joked that the army ran on bullets, bombs, and booze.

His desk appeared neat and tidy. The only object seemingly out of place was a single arrow sitting on the surface of the desk. From time to time Yamagata stroked the edge of the razor-like tip with his thumb, admiring the sharpness of the arrowhead.

He knew from experience just how deadly an arrow could be and longed for the chance to sink the tip into yet another target of flesh and bone. Only another archer would understand how that felt so satisfying on a primal level.

Yamagata shook off that thought for now. He was sure that he would have another chance to use his bow and arrow on more than a straw target soon enough. He leaned back in his chair until it creaked and sipped more rice wine. He had a good reason to be drinking more than usual lately.

Five days ago, he had received more bad news in a letter from home. Official news was largely censored, of course, but a trickle of information still managed to leak out. Unlike the phony government news that crowed about fake victories, the truth behind letters from home that somehow escaped the censors could not be denied.

His brother had written to say that American planes had dropped more bombs on Tokyo, setting off a firestorm in the ancient city of mostly wooden structures, killing thousands. Yamagata’s elderly parents and a sister who lived with them had been among the victims, not to mention old friends and childhood neighbors. His brother was a schoolteacher, nimble with words, and his descriptions of the blackened corpses among the ruins had been disturbingly vivid.

He had grieved in his way, getting drunk on sake, ultimately comforted by the thought that his loved ones and old acquaintances had died for the glory of the Emperor.

There was nothing that Yamagata could do about the bombers. They were far beyond his reach. However, he knew that he could make the lives of the American POWs even more miserable. After all, some of them had been pilots or aircrew on the very bombers that had attacked Japan’s home islands. He looked forward to making what was left of their lives a living hell. On the day that he had received the letter with that bitter news, he had vowed that one way or another, none of the American prisoners would ever return home.

Smiling at the thought, he turned up the volume on his radio, on which he managed to pick up a distant station in Manila playing ryūkōka, the style of music that was so popular in Japan. The song playing was “Tokyo Koushinkyoku,” with sentimental lyrics sung by a sweet-voiced and lovely vocalist named Chiyako Sato, who typically performed while wearing traditional Japanese garb. What was not to like? Yamagata drank in the music much in the same way he was enjoying the sake and sighed deeply.

There was a knock at the door, and Yamagata responded gruffly, “Hai!” He was not happy about being interrupted during his rare downtime at the end of the day, and he didn’t bother to disguise his annoyance.

Lieutenant Osako came in with Sergeant Matsueda. He did not much like Osako, whom he saw as something of a busybody. He also sensed that the younger officer did not approve of him, perhaps even saw Yamagata as something of a failure who had been sent to oversee a backwater post, although Osako had always been careful never to challenge the colonel’s authority. For Osako, who was young, there was always the hope that he might be transferred elsewhere. For Yamagata, this camp would be his last post.

The colonel did not take his feet off his desk or turn down the radio, forcing Osako to talk over the music. He opened his eyes just enough to see that the lieutenant’s neatly buttoned uniform appeared ready for the parade ground, even at this late hour of the day.

“Sir, you wanted to see us?” Osako asked.

“Lieutenant, it was nothing that could not wait until morning.” Yamagata had indeed summoned the two men, but his intention had been to meet with them tomorrow. The tone of Yamagata’s voice made his irritation clear. “I was going to say that the pace of bringing the stones from the streambed has been too slow. The road will never be paved at this rate. You must have the prisoners increase the pace, starting tomorrow morning.”

“Hai!” The young lieutenant came to attention, knowing full well that he had essentially been reprimanded. At the same time, he had no idea how the prisoners could be made to work faster in their weakened state. Some of the men could barely stand. Perhaps he would have them work after dark, using lights?

“That is all,” Yamagata said, finally opening his slitted eyes wide enough to give the lieutenant a baleful look. “Matsueda, you stay.”

Once the young officer had turned on his heel and left, the colonel offered Matsueda a sake. He felt more comfortable with the sergeant, whose loyalties were clear. Yamagata knew that Matsueda would have followed him anywhere.

They drank for a few minutes in companionable silence, and then Matsueda cleared his throat meaningfully. He was the sort of old-fashioned sergeant who would never speak to an officer of Yamagata’s rank unless spoken to first, which was something of a tradition in the Japanese army.

“Is there something on your mind, Matsueda? You may speak freely.”

“Sir, I think that the new prisoner is causing trouble.”

“I agree.” It would be hard to mistake the look of contempt in the prisoner’s eyes. Even a sound beating had failed to extinguish it. But the colonel knew well enough that other prisoners had arrived at the camp this way. Yamagata and Matsueda had taken pleasure in breaking them all.

However, this soldier seemed especially tough. All that Yamagata knew about this soldier was his name: Deacon Cole. These Americans had such curious names, but they were as empty of meaning to Yamagata as the vacant nest of some paper wasps.

He sensed that the soldier had not been entirely truthful as to how he had turned up at the prison gates.

“If the prisoners are behind in their work, as you warned Lieutenant Osako, then this man may only make the delay worse.”

The commandant continued, “What do you suggest?”

“With your permission, I will have him left in the hot box.”

“I have a better idea.” Yamagata nodded at the bow and quiver of arrows in the corner. He had enjoyed shooting the colorful bird earlier that day, but that had only whetted his appetite for more. “In the morning, we shall assemble the prisoners and offer them the opportunity to escape, if they can outrun my arrow.”

The sergeant smiled. The colonel had done this before, and none of the would-be escapees had made it through the gate before being pierced by a yard-long arrow. Then again, some of the so-called escapees had been Filipino slave laborers forced to make a run for it. From Yamagata’s point of view, it had been entertaining nonetheless.

“He has a lot of spirit, but he does not seem like a fool. What if he does not want to try his luck?”

“We shall compel this new prisoner to make a run for it.”

“How will you do that, sir? He seems very stubborn.”

“I will tell him that if he does not run, then I will make someone else do it. Maybe two or three of the weakest ones. This Deacon Cole seems as if he would not let someone else run in his place.”

The sergeant nodded knowingly. “That is a good idea, sir.”

“In any case, it will be good sport.”

Yamagata reached for the bottle of sake and topped off their glasses. The liquid in the bottle seemed to be diminishing rapidly.

They raised their glasses, and Yamagata said, “To the Emperor! Kanpai!”

Both men smacked their empty glasses down, grinning.

Yamagata glanced at the bow in the corner, and his gaze lingered with a mix of fondness and anticipation. He was looking forward to the morning.